Page 114 of When Love Takes Root

Outside, the night air wrapped around us, warm and damp. The ivy on the brick walls shifted in a light breeze, leaves whispering against mortar. Josiah walked me to the truck and opened the door, but before he helped me in, I turned to face him.

I placed my hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath my palm. “Thank you.”

Josiah looked down at me. “For what?”

“For making room for all of me tonight. The woman laughing under flowers and the woman still scared to need anything.”

His eyes moved over my face, slow and sure, like he had already decided both women were worth the patience.

“I don’t want half of you, Celeste. If your joy comes holding grief’s hand, I’ll open the door for both and still be grateful you showed up.”

Something inside me softened. “I want to do this again.”

His smile came slow enough to be a problem. “Good.”

“You knew I would?”

He leaned down until his mouth hovered near my forehead. “No. I hoped.”

Before he could step away, I lifted my face toward his. He paused, his mouth close enough to make breathing feel optional. “May I?”

I didn’t make him ask twice.

“Yes,” I whispered.

His mouth met mine under the ivy, and I kissed him back without fear landing first. My fingers gripped his shirt, and his arm tightened just enough at my waist to steady me without pulling me out of myself. I could hear cars passing beyond the side street, the distant music from somewhere around the corner, the small rustle of leaves above us. The world kept moving, but for a few breaths, all I knew was the feel of his mouth, the restraint in his hands, and the terrifying relief of wanting something without running from it.

When he pulled back, I touched my fingers to my lips.

He saw it and smiled.

“Still scared?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Still want to get in the truck?”

I looked up at him. “Yes.”

“Then we doing all right.”

He helped me into the seat and tucked the hibiscus pot safely at my feet. As he closed the door, I looked through the windshield at The Blooming Room glowing behind its curtain of ivy.

Perhaps love didn’t always arrive like lighting. Maybe sometimes it arrived as a man who remembered my favorite flower and gave me something living to carry home.

When Josiah climbed into the driver’s seat, he looked over at me. “You dancing again?”

I hadn’t realized I was moving in my seat until he said it.

I laughed and covered my face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No.” I lowered my hands and smiled at him, too full to pretend otherwise. “I really don’t.”

He pulled away from the curb with my hand in his, and for once, I let the night carry me without asking it to prove it would not end.

By Wednesday morning, Celeste Coleman had become the first thing I reached for and the last thing I talked myself out of reaching for again.